


a catalogue of afternoons

by Joana789



Series: tumblr fics [7]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, but not a relationship you know?? yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 03:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21029723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: (Last time they were at the airport, Lucas kissed him.Which wasn’t a mistake, but was not the right thing to do, either. It was stupid, is what it was. Eliott was going away for a long time, with his two giant suitcases and dreams waiting to be fulfilled somewhere else, and it was very silly, to try and begin something, whatever this spark in Lucas’s heart was, here in the face of so many things coming to an end.)





	a catalogue of afternoons

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://oheliotts.tumblr.com)  


On Monday, Eliott comes home.

Lucas is there at the airport, waiting for him. He stands and waits and waits until people from the plane from New York start pouring in through the door. There are screaming kids and messy-haired women and guys in hoodies and sweatpants, all looking rough after such a long flight.

And then there’s Eliott.

Lucas’s field of vision narrows down to the sight of him the moment he as much as catches a glimpse. Eliott looks exactly the same Lucas remembers him, except maybe seems taller, which — that’s unfair. He’s looking around, searching, with a heavy-looking bag hanging from his shoulder and his hair mussed, and when he spots Lucas in the crowd, his face lights up with a smile brighter than any kind of constellation Lucas has ever seen.

Lucas doesn’t quite run to him, but it’s a near thing.

_ Hi _ , he wants to scream as he’s walking, as Eliott’s pushing past other people, too, _ hi, you asshole, welcome back to the country, hello, I can’t believe you’re here. _

And then Eliott is right there, still smiling, and his eyes are so, so bright, and Lucas can’t really help the way he throws himself right into his arms, right there and then, amidst all of the noise and the commotion, amidst hundreds of other people. For him, there only matters one.

”Hi, Lu,” Eliott mutters right into Lucas’s hair, presses his face close, warm and real, and finally _ here _, finally not hundreds of kilometres away, not only an image on Lucas’s computer screen or a notification on his phone. His embrace is strong and solid, and Lucas lets himself melt into it, imagines Eliott pressing them closer and closer until they merge together and just stay that way.

”Hi,” he says, not knowing if it’s happiness tightening his throat or something else, something bigger. ”I missed you.”

”Missed you, too,” Eliott says, presses a hand firmer to Lucas’s back. Lucas wonders, briefly, if he can feel just how quickly his heart is beating. Then, Eliott adds, in a slightly quieter voice, ”God, you have no idea.”

Lucas might, actually. If all the restless nights he spent rereading Eliott’s newest texts mean something, or FaceTime calls that are never enough, or staying up late despite the time difference, he actually might have an idea of what Eliott means. It’s the ache in his chest that never really goes away these days. The ache in his chest that slowly starts to dissipate now.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he lets himself lean a little bit heavier into Eliott for one, two, three more seconds, breathes him in and revels, just a little bit, in how reluctant Eliott seems to be to let him go when he, eventually, tries to moves away. 

”Alright,” he says, only an inch away from Eliott’s chest because that’s everything Eliott allows him, and Lucas feels like that’s too much anyway. ”Let’s get you home.”

*

(Last time they were at the airport, Lucas kissed him. 

Which wasn’t a mistake, but was not the right thing to do, either. It was stupid, is what it was. Eliott was going away for a long time, with his two giant suitcases and dreams waiting to be fulfilled somewhere else, and it was idiotic, to try and begin something, whatever this spark in Lucas’s heart was, here in the face of so many things coming to an end. But Lucas was teary-eyed and so, so sad, and his heart was breaking. So he kissed him.

It wasn’t, in hindsight, the best of choices, to show your best friend you’re in love with him mere minutes before said best friend gets on a plane and you don’t see each other for the next 6 months.)

*

On Tuesday, they catch up.

”So,” Lucas says as they’re sitting in the kitchen, Eliott properly at the table and Lucas at the kitchen counter with his legs dangling in the air, although it isn’t even, technically, his own house, ”how’s New York?”

Eliott rolls his eyes at him.

”You ask like you don’t know,” he says. He sounds fond. If Lucas were to describe it, that’s the word he would use. ”In case you forgot already, we call each other every other day.”

That’s true. Lucas’s messed up sleep schedule can attest to that, with how late he stays up sometimes, even when he has a test the next day or stares at the clock at 2 in the morning and already knows he won’t wake up in time to get to class but doesn’t go to sleep anyway. Eliott does things like that, too, and then texts Lucas stuff like, _ ”the professor yelled at me for falling asleep in class, but it was worth it for getting to talk to you yesterday,” _ and Lucas stares at the messages for longer than he should, every time. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but they try — both of them. It’s nice, knowing Eliott doesn’t forget about him, all the way over there at the other end of the world, when they’re both trying as hard as they are.

But he still says, just because he can, ”So what?” and then, raising his eyebrows at Eliott, hoping it comes off as it feels — like a challenge, ”I still don’t really know. I’ve never been there. And whose fault is that, I wonder.”

Eliott smiles at that, but it’s a little crooked where it shouldn’t be, all of a sudden. Lucas wants to reach and straighten it out, smooth it out like creases on a sheet of paper. ”You know I’d take you there with me if I could.”

Lucas knows. They’d talked about it, time and time again, and Lucas even cried once, hoping Eliott couldn’t hear it in his voice as he pressed the phone harder against the side of his face, as if that could make Eliott sound like he was really here. 

_ Couldn’t you go to film school somewhere closer, _ he’d told him then, knowing what he was saying was unfair but doing it anyway. Lucas is, you see, selfish like that. _ You’re so unfair, you asshole. _

And Eliott had said, then, _ I know _ , and, always, always knowing what it really was that Lucas meant even when he didn’t say it explicitly, _ I wish you were here, too. _

But Lucas can’t really leave, and Eliott can’t really stay. So here’s what they have — a week together, and then they’ll be off to lead their separate lifestyles again, far away, Lucas in Paris, Eliott in New York. That’s how it is. 

Lucas thinks he should be used to it by now. And yet.

”I can’t afford the tickets anyway,” is what he says in response, hopes it’s good enough to mask the sudden notes of sadness creeping into his voice. ”And before you say anything, no, I’m not letting you buy them for me. You can spend your scholarship money in a better way.”

Eliott huffs, but he’s smiling. The last time they argued about this, they stayed up on FaceTime until 3 AM.

”There isn’t a better way to spend it,” Eliott says, but it’s only a weak jab, a reminder of their previous, much more heated argument, and Lucas can see it in his eyes that he brings it up again only to drop it a second later. Lucas swings his legs, kicks at the kitchen cupboards, lets a small smile slip onto his face.

”When you become a famous director,” he says, frames it like it’s a compromise of sorts, ”then you can buy me tickets. How about that?”

Eliott hums and then smiles adorably. Lucas could look at his smile for hours on end. ”I’ll hold you to that.”

*

(They’ve been toeing the line for so long that Lucas wonders, sometimes, if they’ll ever stop at all.

Or maybe it’ll be like this forever — Lucas trying not to read too much into all the things that Eliott is saying, and Eliott saying them anyway. Looking at each other like they’re more than they really are. Staying up all night talking, but not about what matters the most, not about what seems to always echo in the back of Lucas’s head once he hears Eliott’s voice. Kissing at the airport and then not mentioning it once.)

*

On Wednesday, Eliott drags Lucas out of his house and demands that he show him _ ”what’s new” _.

”Nothing’s new,” Lucas tells him, trying to sound upset because Eliott woke him up at 7 am and then proceeded to drag him out of bed without even feeling sorry for it, but he’s not really succeeding much. They’re on the subway. It’s too crowded for Lucas’s liking, but he uses that as an excuse to press a bit closer to Eliott, to lean on him and to grip his shoulder every time they halt to a stop. ”I don’t know what I’m supposed to show you. You know this city just as well as I do.”

Eliott levels him with a look, but can’t hide the sparks of amusement in his voice. ”Lucas, something _ had _ to change since I’ve last been here.” He shrugs. Lucas grips his shoulder tighter. ”I just wanna see what.”

So they go. At 8 am, when it’s still a bit chilly here outside, they walk the streets, and Lucas tries to figure it out. They get a coffee at a cafe Eliott used to go to all the time back in high school that has now changed the owner, and Lucas shows him a bookstore they used to pass on their way to the bus station every day that now is not a bookstore anymore but a vegan chain restaurant. 

Eliott tells him, when he sees it, ”I’m devastated.”

Lucas only barks out a laugh.

It’s good to see Eliott back around familiar corners again. A bit surreal, too, but Lucas doesn’t want to think about it too much. Eliott seems to take the city in like it’s his first time here, keeps looking around and smiling at people passing them by as they walk, but at the same time, he just— fits so well in here. He looks like he belongs because he really does. They see a cat at a curb at one point, and Eliott is immediately enchanted, goes over to pet it, and Lucas can’t look away from the picture that it makes.

He’s missed him so much that it hurts a little, even when Eliott’s already here.

They go to an art gallery, too. That is, Lucas guesses, also a part of the city that’s changed, although it barely really counts because it’s just how exhibitions work. But then again, Eliott’s eyes light up like the stars when Lucas suggests it, so. The answer to the question is obvious. 

They pay for the tickets, and then Eliott spends at least 10 minutes in front of every single painting, looking and talking to Lucas in a hushed voice, and Lucas complains weakly about how much time Eliott’s taking but doesn’t move a step away. 

There is a weird feeling in his chest that takes him a while to identify as relief. 

He was worried, in a strange way, about bringing Eliott here. He was worried about many things. So much has changed, during those 6 months — the city, the weather, the weird void in Lucas’s ribcage whenever he thought of Eliott, going from sharply painful to only unpleasantly familiar — that he was afraid Eliott has changed, too. Became someone else, someone who wouldn’t fit in this scene — the art gallery, the fluorescent lights, their casual banter, standing shoulder to shoulder — and Lucas was not there to see. Was not there to catch up with the changes. 

”What do you think this one is called?” Eliott asks, pointing at another art piece, one of many. 

”It’s _ ’The Summer', _” Lucas reads off of a metal nameplate under it, but Eliott’s already shaking his head. 

”No, not the title, I mean,” he says, bumps his shoulder into Lucas’s like when they were kids, and he was trying to rope Lucas into doing something he considered fun, ”what would _ you _ call it? What do you think?”

And, see — Eliott hasn’t changed much at all. 

They will be, Lucas thinks, just fine.

*

(_ Please _ , he’s thought to himself in the dark hours of the night so many times, staring up at his ceiling, _ please let us be fine. _

He fucked up, you see. Lucas is aware of that. They both are, really, because Eliott is the smartest guy he knows, and there’s no way in hell he just forgot about it all. And even if he is kind enough to not mention the kiss — just as he was kind enough to kiss Lucas back, briefly, there by the gates, before he turned around and stepped out of sight — they still both know it happened.

Lucas goes through periodical stages of either wanting to erase the kiss from his memory entirely or thinking about it non-stop for days on end.

He knows Eliott only kissed him back because he didn’t want to make a scene, or because he didn’t want to break Lucas’s heart further since it was falling apart already anyway. Lucas knows that. That’s the only explanation that makes sense, really, and he is okay with that. It’s what he eventually gave into, after hours and hours spent on thinking about it, replaying the act of it in his mind until it felt like just another thing he’s made up, until his lips throbbed with the memory.

He’d have to be stupid to hope for Eliott to love him back. He doesn’t. Eliott has never given him any real reason to believe in it, never promised him a thing. 

Eliott doesn’t love him back. If he did, a small, more naive part of Lucas’s mind reminds him from time to time, when he gets a bit too hopeful, when he focuses on the _ what-if _ scenarios too much, he would have said something. He would have said, _ wait for me _ , maybe, or _ do it again _, or something equally earth-shattering, and wouldn’t have left Lucas at this goddamn airport with only a weak smile and a promise of a phone call. 

They’ve talked so, so many times, for hours and hours on end, and he never said a thing. Not once.

Lucas can recognise a dismissal when he sees one, is the thing. It’s clear enough.)

*

On Thursday, Eliott is stolen away.

”Sorry,” he says when Lucas calls him, asking for the plan for the day, ”my family’s coming over today. I tried to get out of it, but…you know how my parents are. We’re having a big dinner, and all.”

For what it’s worth, he doesn’t really sound pleased with it. It still does very little to dilute the heavy feeling suddenly there in Lucas’s gut.

”Oh,” Lucas says. ”Okay. I mean—”

It’s the kind of sentence that starts somewhere but ends nowhere. Lucas cuts himself off, and the awkwardness of it hangs in the air, stretches thin over the distance between Eliott and him. 

He isn’t upset. He isn’t. But he was excited about the day, maybe, about another couple of hours they’d get to spend together, the prospect of having Eliott within reach where he’s sure to stay, sure to stick around. They didn’t make any plans, but Lucas was hoping something would just fall into their hands like it always did, and that they would take it and make the best of it, anyway. 

But he’s forgotten, maybe, somewhere in the whirlwind of it all, about other people. Of course Eliott’s family wants to spend some time with him, too. Of course. It’s a given when Eliott is so easy to love, and by so, so many people, too. 

Lucas has been selfish, he realises, for thinking he can have Eliott only to himself.

”Have fun, then,” he says. His voice is suddenly something stuck between strung-too-tight and forcefully nonchalant, but over the phone, it doesn’t carry. ”Say _ hi _ to your parents from me.”

Eliott huffs.

”Sure,” he says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. Lucas imagines it, and it makes him feel a little better. ”I’ll keep you posted on all the most exciting stuff that’s happening.”

”Like what kind of cake your mom made, you mean.”

”And what my grandma is wearing,” Eliott adds, and Lucas can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, then. On the other end of the line, Eliott chuckles, too, like he’s pleased. Like making Lucas laugh has been his plan all along, perhaps.

”You’re fucking impossible,” Lucas tells him, the stiffness gone from his voice just like that, and then, ”Okay.”

He spends the day in front of the TV, pretending to watch some talk show that Mika likes and in reality waiting for whatever message Eliott sends him next. It’s nice. His whole family seems to be there for him, grandparents and aunts and cousins, and god knows who else, and Eliott is grinning from ear to ear in every single photo he sends him. 

That’s good, Lucas thinks. It’s what Eliott deserves — all this love, all the affection. So many people missing him when he’s away, being so happy when he’s finally home.

A lot of people love him. Lucas is, in the end, only one of many.

*

(He doesn’t know when it happened. It’s as if Lucas blinked, forgot to pay attention for just a second, and there it was already, this feeling.

Or maybe there was never a specific moment at all. Maybe it happened somewhere between when they were kids, then scrawny teenagers, and then more. Between taking Eliott’s hand for the first time and never wanting to let it go, later. Eliott was the one to talk Lucas into riding his bike down the hill and the one to wipe his tears away afterwards, laughing a little. He was the person who showed him the stars, lay on the grass during hot, enveloping summer nights, mapping constellations out in the sky, and didn’t make fun of how childishly fascinated Lucas was by it. He was the person who snuck into closed playgrounds in the middle of the night with him, just for the thrill of it, and who later got grounded for it alongside. Eliott was the person who told him that there was nothing wrong about girls kissing other girls and boys kissing other boys. He was the first person to openly call Lucas’s father a fucking asshole when he left them, and was there to wipe Lucas’s tears away this time around as well.

Maybe that’s what did it. All those things, all at once.

But a small part of Lucas still wishes someone had told him, impossibly, before it happened — _ watch out, be careful, in a second, you’re going to fall in love _.)

*

On Friday, they end up celebrating.

It is, to say the truth, Idriss’s idea. He comes over in the afternoon, with Yann and Sofiane in tow, and instead of a hello says, ”Eliott, we need to get drunk together,” and it all goes downhill from there. Their group is chaotic democracy at its finest, and it shows — Lucas’s weak attempts of refusal go unnoticed, and instead, a bottle of cheap wine gets pushed into his hand, someone makes drinks, someone else puts on some music, and that’s how it goes.

Lucas, honestly, doesn’t drink much. It’s a Friday night, and all his friends are here, and he’s having a good time, but then, there’s also this — he wouldn’t want to miss the way Eliott’s eyes shine in the lights of the party, wouldn’t want to miss the way he pushes his hair away from his forehead or how he throws his head back when he laughs. It’s Friday. On Sunday, Eliott is leaving. 

Lucas doesn’t want to miss a second of him still being here. He wants to remember it all.

It laces his thoughts with a weird sense of urgency, this sudden awareness of time. He finds a spot in the corner of the living room and just sits and looks, and his chest fills with something heavy, stinging. _ We have two days _ , he thinks as he swirls his overly sweet drink around in the plastic cup, amidst the heavy beat of music flooding the room, amidst the laughter and the clinking of glasses fitting right beside it, _ two days and then he leaves me again. _

It’s not fair to think this way. Lucas knows. It’s not like he’s the only one who misses Eliott, or like Eliott doesn’t miss him in return just as much. But he lets himself give in to it, just for a second — missing Eliott already, even when he’s still here, right across the room talking to Arthur, his hair a mess, a bottle of beer in his hand. Lucas doesn’t know what he’ll do when he has to, inevitably, watch Eliott leave again. Stand there at another fucking airport, with their history coming full circle, with his heart breaking again, just like the first time around.

Their eyes lock, then, over the crowd. Eliott smiles at him, his grin wide and genuine and happy, and Lucas tries to smile back in the same manner, wipe away whatever stupid feelings have surfaced on his face, maybe, but he doesn’t think he’s quick enough. Eliott’s smile gets weaker. Something like worry creeps up into his features, etches itself in between his eyebrows.

Lucas gets up from his seat before Eliott can make his way over to him, pushes his way to the bathroom and locks the door, stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, presses his palms to his face when his eyes start to sting.

*

(He wants Eliott to stay. 

He wants a miracle to happen. He wants Eliott to be here, to be close, wants to be able to see him every day, the lines of his smile when he’s happy and the downturn of his mouth then he’s sad, he wants him to be here tomorrow, and the week after that, and later, and later. Lucas wants it all. 

He is a selfish person. He knows that. That’s why he kissed Eliott back then in the first place. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, when he’s sick with sadness and the hollow feeling in his chest, he thinks about asking Eliott to come back. Asking Eliott not to go. All the things he’s never going to say out loud because they would only make matters worse, would only make Eliott hurt. Lucas knows he is happy over there in New York. But it doesn’t stop him from thinking about clutching his hand and saying, _ please, please just stay. For me. _

At least in his own imagination, he’s enough for Eliott to stay. It doesn’t exactly make anything better, but it’s all he has.)

*

On Saturday, something between them shifts.

Lucas misses the exact moment it happens, to tell the truth. He is busy with other things.

Eliott comes over around noon, with tiredness from last night still written into the lines of his face but with his eyes sparkling and with a small smile on his lips. The weather is kind of shitty, he tells Lucas, running a hand through his hair as he steps into the apartment, and Lucas notices then that his hair is a little wet like it’s raining outside, or just starting to. It sticks to his forehead a bit. Lucas fights the urge to reach out and brush the stands away, bites on his lip, and only turns his eyes away when Eliott, shrugging off his jacket and kicking down his shoes, raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

Lucas doesn’t want to answer it. Instead, he says the first thing that comes to his head. ”Wanna watch something, then?”

Eliott says _ yes _ because of course he does, and then it goes like this — they sprawl out on the couch and fight over the blanket just a little, and Lucas lets Eliott pick the movie. The rain is playing an uneven rhythm on the windows, one-two-three, irregular and barely there. He leans into Eliott a little more than he has to but not as much as he really wants to, and Eliott only hums quietly, doesn’t turn his eyes away from the screen. His arm winds around Lucas’s waist, firm, bring them close together where Eliott runs warm, from shoulder to hip.

Lucas keeps thinking, _ this is our last day _. 

It’s not a bad way to spend it. Somewhere in a small, quiet corner of his heart, Lucas is grateful for it. It’s nice, almost unfairly so, to be able to lean into Eliott and share his warmth, make sure he’s still right here, listen to his voice when he says, from time to time, ”Look at this scene, Lu,” or, ”Now, now, pay attention.”

Lucas is. Not to the movie, really, but to everything else — the way Eliott smells like the rain and fresh air and cheap cologne Lucas bought him last year for his birthday. The way he sounds like he always does. The way the fabric of his shirt folds over his collar bones and how shadows settle in the hollow of his throat.

There are very few things in the world that Lucas would want more than he wants this.

*

And when it gets dark — after they’ve watched another movie and stuffed their faces with pizza and after Mika and Lisa came home and joined them in the living room, after they argued over Eliott’s terrible music taste and laughed over how familiar it was, too, it’s time for Eliott to go home.

Lucas is scared of it, like a child. He is scared of opening the door and letting Eliott go and letting the world happen to him, a world Lucas is barely present in, a world somewhere far away. But then Eliott is already getting up from the couch and saying his goodbyes to Lisa, letting Mika hug him, and Lucas trails behind him and watches it, then watches him put on his shoes and jacket and get ready to walk out just like that. 

”So,” he says, and if his throat suddenly feels too tight, nobody has to know, ”I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It’s all they have left. They both know that because it’s not like it’s a secret, really. The whole day today, they haven’t spoken a word about Eliott leaving tomorrow, but they both know what is going to happen — Lucas will go to the airport with him, say his goodbyes, try not to cry too much and probably fail, and Eliott will smile at him with his stupid, unbelievable, gorgeous smile and hug him like he never wants to let him go even though it is not true and then leave. 

In the doorway, Eliott hesitates.

Maybe it’s because too many of Lucas’s thoughts are showing on his face. Maybe it’s easier to read him than it usually is, than it was yesterday in the lights of the party. Lucas waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come, and there’s a suddenly tension-heavy moment that passes between them. Eliott just keeps looking at him. Lucas doesn’t know what to do about it.

And then, Eliott says, ”Do you want to walk me home?”

Lucas hears Mika laugh from the living room where he and Lisa are still watching something on TV. The rain is still drumming on the windows, a staccato. Outside, it’s probably cold and windy, and if he goes with Eliott, he won’t be back for another two hours, probably. They both have to get up early tomorrow. It’s very late.

”Sure,” Lucas says, grabbing his own jacket from the hanger. ”Let’s go.”

*

They walk in relative silence for about 2 minutes, when Eliott suddenly grabs Lucas’s hand and pulls him in a different direction and onto a road that, Lucas is pretty sure, doesn’t lead to Eliott’s apartment. 

”Hey,” Lucas says, almost stumbling over the cobblestones of the dark street, ”what are you doing?”

Eliott’s hand is warm in his, and firm, and his grip is strong. He laces their fingers together. Lucas tells himself that it is not the reason his heart does something weird in his chest, that it’s because of the dark, because of the late hour.

”I wanna show you something,” Eliott says, pulls him along, rounds a street corner. ”Come on, it’s not far.”

”Weren’t you going back home?”

”I don’t want to go back home.” The words have a weird quality to them. Lucas wants to ask, but then Eliott adds, a bit quieter, ”not yet.”

So they go. How could Lucas complain, really, if he gets to hang around Eliott for just a while longer, have him all to himself, selfishly and privately, hold his hand and let himself get involved in another one of Eliott’s strange ideas like it’s the old times, still? So Lucas lets Eliott drag him along, only grips his hand tighter and doesn’t say a word. 

It’s Eliott’s last evening here, and somehow, he chose to spend it with Lucas, with Lucas alone. Whatever it means, Lucas will take it.

*

Eliott brings him, apparently, to a closed playground.

”Wait,” Lucas says as he stands in front of it, as Eliott finally lets go of his hand in favour of wrestling with the lock on the gate instead, fighting it until it gives up and the door squeaks open, ”Eliott, seriously?”

”What?” Eliott says and just steps inside. He sounds like he’s smiling. ”You scared? It’s just a playground, Lu.”

”This is illegal,” Lucas informs him but goes in anyway, closes the door with the smallest sound. Apart from that, and their whispers, everything is very quiet. ”Just so you know.”

Eliott chuckles, ”I’m aware,” and then, walking backwards, when the light of the streetlamp catches in his eyes and sets his gaze on fire, he says, ”Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

And whatever response Lucas could make, it dies on his tongue, just like that. Maybe it’s, he thinks with his heart hammering a bit too quickly against his ribcage, actually for the better. 

They find a pair of swings that aren’t, miraculously, wet from the rain somehow, and sit down there. For a second, Lucas feels like he’s in a movie of sorts, the kind that Eliott likes to watch best. It doesn’t feel real, between one beat of his heart and the next, this whole scene — the rain, the fresh air, the stars in the sky. How the streetlamp casts a faint light that doesn’t reach quite to where they are. How he’s allowed, somehow, to sit here with Eliott, the same beautiful, unbelievable person he’s known his whole life.

He asks, ”Why are we here?”

”Do you remember,” Eliott says in response, and when Lucas looks over at him, he’s watching the starts, his fingers wrapped around the chain of the swing, ”when we came here when we were kids? When you were, like, twelve?”

Lucas remembers. It is the same place, he realises suddenly, now when he properly thinks about it and pays attention. The three big oaks to his right are still here, and the fence seems to still be painted the same jarring, chipping-off red, or at least that’s what it looks like in the light of the streetlamp. They used to come here sometimes, when they were younger. Once, Lucas took his dad’s pocket knife and carved an ”L+E” into the wood the fence was made of, not really understanding what the action meant, back then.

”Is this where you took me at midnight that one time and then we both got grounded for the next five years?” Lucas asks, and doesn’t expect it when Eliott laughs, doesn’t expect the way it rings in the night and falls into it, makes the stars seem a little brighter.

”Yeah,” Eliott tells him, ”yeah, that’s the place.”

He sounds happy. He sounds genuine. He sounds like everything is alright, like it’s just another night spent hanging around with a friend, like it’s one of so many nights they spent together ad not much more, and Lucas suddenly…can’t take it. It’s like a wave that sweeps him up and drags him under, and he can’t do it. Something blooms in his chest and makes it too tight to breathe properly. He looks away from Eliott’s profile, feels like he’ll break if he doesn’t.

A moment passes. Lucas feels like his lungs are filled with lead. 

And then, quietly, Eliott says, ”I don’t want tomorrow to happen.”

Lucas snaps his head back up, surprised. For a second, he thinks he imagined it. With how quiet it was, and how stray, that wouldn’t be impossible, he thinks. But then Eliott turns his face away from the sky and looks at Lucas instead, and even if he did sound happy just minutes ago, he doesn’t look like it now. 

”That’s why I didn’t want to go back home yet,” he tells Lucas, like a confession. There’s something muted in his eyes. ”I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

Lucas swallows. 

”What,” he tries, forces a corner of his mouth to lift in a desperate attempt at covering up the tremor in his voice, ”aren’t you excited to go back to New York?”

It’s only half a joke and half a genuine question. Eliott answers it with a shrug that looks heavy.

”Not really. I mean,” he says, and Lucas expects him to backtrack, then, just maybe, for only a second. Start talking about how New York isn’t that bad after all. About how much he’s learning, about how it’s just difficult, is all. But then he says, ”it’s great, but. There’s someone at home I’m going to miss a lot.”

Something in Lucas’s chest quivers. He tries to smother it. ”Idriss, I bet.”

Eliott smiles at that, softly. His eyes crinkle at the corners. 

”You,” he says. ”You.”

And, see — Lucas knew that. He’s known.

It doesn’t make anything easier. 

He turns his eyes away. He wants to say, _ me too, me too, I’m going to miss you, too. _ He wants to say, _ then don’t go, please don’t go, please just stay. _ He wants to stand up and take the two steps that separate them and wrap Eliott in his arms and don’t let him go, stay with him right here until the rain stops and the sun rises. He wants to kiss him, like back then. Lucas wants so, so much.

It burns in his chest like embers of a fire that should have died long ago. Maybe that’s why he says, ”We’re not going to talk about it, then?”

A pause. ”About what?”

”Me and you,” Lucas replies, then swallows. He takes a breath, tries to steady himself, and then finally says, ”That I kissed you, back then. At the airport.” And when Eliott doesn’t say anything to that, Lucas adds, quieter, ”I think we should talk about it.”

His throat is tight. He’s clutching the chains of the swing so forcefully that they’re digging into his palm. 

_ Me and you _, he said, but there is no such thing, really. That’s what Eliott is going to tell him. No ”L+E” even though it’s carved somewhere into the playground fence, even though the hope of it is etched into Lucas’s stupid heart. He’s sick of hoping for things that will never be true, tired of making so many mistakes, but he can’t help it. He can’t help it.

Eliott is silent. Lucas is afraid of what he’d see if he looks at him, so he just keeps his eyes where they are. He keeps staring at his own shoes, barely visible against the dark background of the grass under his feet. They weren’t supposed to bring it up, he knows. They were supposed to brush it off as inconsequential, lock it somewhere in the corner of their minds and not revisit, pretend it never happened, forget entirely. Maybe that’s what Eliott did, after all. Perhaps the memory of it got pushed to the side, with so many other things going on in his life, with so many different people, new places, better things to pay attention to than Lucas and his stupidity.

For a second, shame burns in his veins like a flame. 

Then, Eliott stands up.

_ He’s going to go, _ Lucas’s mind says, and suddenly his breathing needs two tries before it goes anywhere. _ He’s going to say, don’t come to the airport tomorrow, and he’s going to go. You used up your time. You should have stayed quiet. _

It’s true. It’s all true.

Except Eliott doesn’t leave.

He takes two steps, instead, and then crouches in front of Lucas, and before Lucas can register what’s happening, through his loud mind and aching heart, Eliott is unwrapping Lucas’s fingers from around the swing chains and taking his hands in his own. His grip is tight. His hands are warm. 

”Lucas,” he’s saying, ”tell me why you did it. Tell me why you kissed me.”

It doesn’t make sense, but in response, he says, ”You remember, then,” and it comes out weak.

Eliott’s hands tremble in his, minutely, but it’s so slight it might as well only be his imagination. That’s what Lucas writes it off as. 

”Of course I remember,” Eliott says. ”Of course.” And then, brushing Lucas’s knuckles with his thumbs in a gesture that is probably meant to be consoling, he repeats, ”Why?”

For a moment, Lucas doesn’t say anything. 

He’s thought about it so many times. So many times, it was right there on his tongue, and he always kept it in. All his _ I love you _’s, all the things he couldn’t let Eliott hear because it was just Lucas and his stupid, naive heart talking, because it would ruin the best thing he’s ever had. Lucas is not ready to lose it now. He’s not.

But if Eliott’s tight grip is anything to go by, or the way he intertwines their fingers, or the way he doesn’t take his eyes off Lucas at all, then maybe he knows already. Maybe he knows. Lucas isn’t sure what to believe anymore, and it hardly matters anyway, right, hardly matters when Eliott’s going to leave tomorrow anyway, fuck off for another 6 months or so, and Lucas will have to pick his broken heart back up and piece it together nevertheless, just like last time. 

It’s a heartbreak either way, no matter the reason. 

”You know why,” he finally says. It feels like a confession, but of a different sort. ”You know why, Eliott.”

Eliott brushes his knuckles again. ”Tell me.”

And just like that — Lucas closes his eyes and says it.

”Because I’m in love with you,” he says. It feels so raw on his tongue that he feels weak with it. And then again, ”I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for ages. I loved you when we were kids, and I love you now, and I will love you tomorrow when you get on that fucking plane and leave, and that’s just what it is, Eliott, I’m really—” A breath. ”I love you. I’m so sorry.” 

He keeps looking at his shoes, still, at the same patch of grass. His inhale, the exhale, then inhale again, are all shaky.

”I kissed you because you were leaving, and I didn’t know when I would see you again,” Lucas continues, a little despite himself, but once the words are out there, there’s nothing he can do. ”I kissed you because you were still here, and I missed you already. And because I love you.” He swallows. His throat feels tight. ”That was the main reason.”

They weren’t supposed to talk about it, but here it is. No take-backs; game over. Eliott knows, now. That’s okay. Lucas will get through it, somehow, like he got through many other things. It’s what he tells himself, biting down on his lip so that it stops quivering, listening to the rush of blood in his head and the too-quick beating of his heart. Eliott isn’t saying anything, but Lucas doesn’t expect him to. There’s not much left to say, really.

And then, a shift.

”Lucas,” Eliott is muttering in the next second, and he’s pulling Lucas’s hands closer to himself, closer to his face, and then Lucas watches, dazed, as he presses his lips to Lucas’s knuckles, once, twice, then, again and again, a kiss after a kiss. ”I thought you— I didn’t—”

It has stopped raining, Lucas notes with a tiny part of his mind. He has, suddenly, no idea what’s happening. 

”I thought you didn’t say anything because—” Eliott tries and gets stuck, and in the meager light, he looks…unlike himself, a little. Wide-eyed, breathless, with a few damp strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. His gaze is suddenly so intense it is almost a physical thing. ”You never—” And then like he can’t help himself, Eliott asks, voice caving in, ”Please say it again.”

Lucas blinks at him. He feels like the world has stopped, somehow. Like the time is frozen. ”What?”

”Say it again,” Eliott repeats, and something in his voice changes, then. He’s looking straight at Lucas, with his eyes bright. They’re still holding hands. ”Why you kissed me.”

”I love you,” Lucas tells him, again, just as true as before. His heart is beating too fast.

And Eliott just closes his eyes and presses the back of Lucas’s hand to his lips again, warm and unexpected, and then, when he smiles, Lucas feels the curve of it right against his skin.

”God,” Eliott whispers, barely audible. ”Fuck.”

And then, before Lucas can say anything, Eliott is suddenly untangling their fingers and something passes in his eyes, a notion, and then he’s reaching over and he’s cupping Lucas’s face in his hands, right there at the playground, in the middle of the night and—

When Eliott kisses him, it feels like coming home. 

It’s warm and sweet and the angle is a little off, and it’s nothing like the first time but it’s also exactly like the first time, and Lucas melts into it and he’s kissing Eliott. He’s kissing Eliott. Eliott is kissing _ him _ — slow and shy at first, then growing comfortable, and then Lucas is parting his lips and lets Eliott deepen the kiss, lets the thrill of it push all the air out of his lungs. He curls his fingers into the fabric of his jeans when Eliott angles his head. They’re kissing — slow and unhurried and like they have all the time they need, even when they don’t, really. But here, in the dark, with the warmth of Eliott’s lips and the burn of hope coiling in Lucas’s chest, it’s easier to believe.

And then, when they part, Eliott is smiling wider than Lucas ever remembers him to.

”I thought you didn’t say anything because— I thought it was an impulse, then,” he tells him, leans his forehead against Lucas’s, and his eyes are closed. His hands slide down to Lucas’s neck, and he traces the line of Lucas’s jaw with his thumb, gentle. ”That you did it because you didn’t want me to go. That you thought it would make me stay.”

There is a question hiding somewhere in the sentence. Lucas answers it, feeling dazed. Feeling breathless.

”I did want you to stay,” he says, and then, ”I do. But the kiss wasn’t meant to be a bargaining card.”

Eliott huffs out a laugh. His eyes are still closed. ”Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

”Why didn’t you?”

And then Eliott does open his eyes, and even after knowing him for practically his whole life and loving him for almost equally as long, Lucas is not ready for what he sees — all the blinding happiness. All the breathtaking storm of something he’s almost afraid to name.

”If I did, and you told me what you did just now,” he says, ”I would’ve come back here on the next plane.”

Eliott’s still tracing the line of his jaw. For a heartbeat, Lucas just looks at him. ”Why?”

”Because I love you,” Eliott says, smiles that blinding smile again, leans into Lucas like he can’t help it, like he can’t wait, kisses his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. ”Because I love you, too.”

*

(Later, they will go. Leave the playground and close the gate behind, unnoticed and unseen, like they were never there in the first place, like nothing ever happened. They will hold hands and pull each other along the empty streets, then kiss on the doorstep of Eliott’s apartment building where Eliott will push Lucas against the cold brick wall and angle his chin up and kiss him again, again until Lucas loses track of time. Later, they will say _ ”goodnight” _ and Eliott will complain, just a little, about how he still needs to pack, and Lucas will laugh at him quietly, laugh until Eliott kisses the smile off his face.

But now, it’s this —

”I would stay,” Eliott tells him, still clutching his hands like it’s a lifeline, ”if you asked me to.”

For a second, Lucas wants to. The possibility of it is blinding — how he could just say two words, and Eliott would stay for him, right there, easy as that. He can taste the words on his tongue. No heartbreak, he thinks, but the opposite of it, for once. 

But in the end, he says, ”I won’t ask you to.” That’s all.

Because, you see — it wouldn’t be fair. Lucas is selfish, but he’s not cruel. He knows how much New York means to Eliott. He can’t ask Eliott to give it up, his future and his dreams and all the bright ideas he has, just because he’s going to miss him, because this is not how love works. And Lucas is no expert, really, but he is learning something new about love every day, it seems like, and tonight, dizzy with relief and throbbing with how thoroughly kissed he’s just been, he learns his — love is not selfish. Love is not painless. Sometimes, love means letting someone go and hoping they will come back.

”I won’t ask you,” he repeats when Eliott doesn’t say anything, only looks. ”But I will wait if you want me to.”

Something passes over Eliott’s face. Like understanding. His gaze softens, warms up.

”Thank you,” he says, and it’s enough of an answer.)

*

On Sunday, Eliott leaves.

Lucas goes to the airport with him, stands there amongst the crowd of people, and only has eyes for Eliott anyway. Eliott, with his heavy suitcases packed in a hurry, with his hair messy and his eyes a little tired and his smile a little crooked. They are, at least in this aspect, mirror reflections of each other — it’s the same, the way they look at each other, the way they hold hands, the way Eliott wraps him in a hug, bone-crushing, and Lucas melts into it and just holds Eliott for a second, wishes for the time to slow down for just a moment. Just a while.

”I’ll miss you,” Eliott says, presses the words into Lucas’s temple, ”so fucking much, you have no idea.”

And Lucas smiles so that he doesn’t cry. ”I do,” he says. ”I do, actually.”

Eliott kisses him goodbye, and the kisses are all like punctuation marks between him saying, _ I’ll call you when I get there _ , and _ I’ll see you soon, I promise _ , and _ I love you _. His voice quivers a bit as he says it all. Lucas thinks, unreasonably, about ”L+E” carved somewhere into a wooden fence.

And then Eliott goes. It will be a while before they see each other again, but it’s okay.

Lucas can wait for him.

**Author's Note:**

> "friday, i'm in love" playing in the background :')
> 
> [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/joana789)


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